Deadly Discovery

By E L Russell

The second book in the Evolutis Rising series Deadly Discovery, is a technothriller adventure ride through the discovery of space and time travel for Elizabeth Stosak and her cohort, all members of a new species of human, Homo Evolutis.
Pursued by paramilitary forces wanting to weaponize their powers, and secret government elements bent on their elimination, she questions the cohort’s decision to seek safety by hiding in plain sight.
Elizabeth discovers a hidden sect of ancient people who call themselves the Followers the survivors, hiding on earth from a centuries old galactic conflict. Concerned that those who pursue the Followers may discover them on earth, she leads Evolutis on a quest to discover the potential of their new powers and prepare them for the coming conflict.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E L Russell
• Release date: May 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310596599

E L Russell

Editorial Reviews About the Authors Enid and Enos Russell hail from Houston and sincw 2010 have published 15+ high-concept science fiction and techno-thriller novels, as well as 10+ Short Stories. Our first question is always, "What could go wrong?" Educated in mathematics and research, I have spent ten years writing White Papers advising corporations on emerging technologies. My latest research has resulted in a series of novels and short stories about the ability to re-program inheritable genetic code, curing disease through self-healing, waging war, and acquiring immortality. Our protagonists, powerful women scientists, medical researchers, are members of the next human species, Homo Evolutis. We publish through Entanglement Publishing. --This text refers to the paperback edition.

Book preview

1

The Package

Somewhere between Norway and the North Pole, in a dimly lit grotto under an icy mountain, two shrouded figures sat with steaming bowls of stew. They ate in silence communicating with their minds. Only the hiss of coal in the fire and the soft rattle of utensils broke the stillness.

Five stories underground, Sarah O’Quinn, a tall, black Hispanic woman, meticulously positioned the last set of DNA samples on the conveyer belt. The digital wall clock told her she had an hour to complete the processing of the shipment before meeting Kanesha and friends for a trip to the beach. She could already feel the cool water on her lithe, brown body. Little did she know, more than the last day of her summer internship at Trident’s Bio Containment Lab in Baltimore was about to end.

After ensuring the hospital containers were properly aligned, she turned the key to the console. The long conveyer belt snaked its way toward the white scanning hub where the specimens were electronically inspected for contamination and explosives, both of which should trigger an instant drop through a trap door to a bombproof vault below. From that point, the belt diverged in five directions, advancing through short tunnels into other labs. The automated security process took twenty minutes and then she’d be out of there. Plenty of time.

Pleased with her efficiency, she headed toward the showers with images of the beach party filling her mind. When a small pop sounded behind her she stopped.

That’s wrong. She turned to scan for the origin of the soft noise. In the middle of the conveyer belt, slightly off-center, sat a small package wrapped in brown paper.

How the hell— A flash of light blinded her and a thunderous explosion threw her across the laboratory floor.

Sarah woke to a wailing alarm and the red glow of blinking lights.

EMERGENCY POWER

EMERGENCY POWER

Afraid to move, she lay on the floor coughing and squinting through a heavy cloud of dust. A non-stop ringing filled her head. Another freaking bomb? What was it with her and bombs? Memories of an explosion a year earlier robbed her of logical thought. Her chest felt like a trapped animal in there wanted to escape. Her heart thumped with erratic beats. Breathe. That’s what her trauma counselor told her, to close her eyes and concentrate on breathing. Slow in. Relax. Slow out. Slow in. Relax. Slow out.

Useless. Shaking all over, she struggled to focus. She examined her stinging arms. Only a little blood. Not much damage. Minor cuts. No burns. That was good. Broken glass from the viewing windows surrounded her. Wrinkling her nose, she inhaled deeply. The smell was different from the other bomb. Almost sweet. No camphor odor.

What the hell was she doing? A bomb was a damn bomb. Bits of plaster from wide cracks in the ceiling rained down on her spurring her to action. Ditching the CSI analysis, she rolled to her stomach. Slowly and painfully, she pushed to her knees and wiped her hands over the sheen of sweat on her arms, dislodging bits of glass and igniting pinpoints of pain.

She knew she’d carefully lined up each box on the conveyer belt for inspection. She remembered she did it with focused precision. How in the hell did that other package get there? It had not been there before. She would not have missed it. It had appeared out of nowhere . . . with the pop. She had heard the sound of repositioning.

She crawled on all fours to the nearest wall, she sat against it, and then pushed backward with both arms, working her way to a stand on shaking legs. Blackness teased the edges of her vision and she brushed her forehead with her hands. Blinking the darkness away, she pushed away from her support.

Sharp pieces of twisted metal covered the floor and red zeros flashed on the clock. She knew safety protocols would have sealed off this level’s bio labs. She was trapped inside. Loose gerbils seemed to be racing around her innards and she could feel the four floors above pressing down to crush her.

Damn biohazard protocols. Her imagination ran wild. No time to wait for the freaking rescue team. What if there was another bomb? Flashbacks and dizziness swirled through her head. Although she touched the wall for balance, it was not enough and she slipped to the floor. She needed a minute to regroup.

Stashing her panic, Sarah rose to wobbly feet and threaded her way through the rubble, carefully stepping over the misshapen remains of the conveyer belt. Cautious not to disturb more dust than necessary, she climbed over equipment and nudged wreckage aside with her foot, all the while worrying about another explosion.

She groaned at the extent of the damage. The blast destroyed the scanning equipment as well as the conveyer belts. Even the short belts connecting the control room’s router to small tunnels that fed the surrounding processing labs were demolished or buried in wreckage.

Except the one leading into lab number three.

She stumbled through the obstacle course toward the only possible escape route. Pushing aside a piece of the rubber conveyer belt hanging out of the small tunnel connected to lab three like a dog’s lolling tongue, she poked her head into the tight dark passage. So freaking small. A threatening structural groan from tons of concrete overhead kicked her courage into high gear. She could fit through. She had to.

Fists clenched tight, she gritted her teeth and bent over stretching her arms out before her hoping like hell she wouldn’t get stuck. Once inside the narrow tunnel, she panted in shallow gasps to keep her profile small. She wiggled and twisted her body forward with incremental progress until she could go no farther.

Painfully trapped, her chest wedged tight in the far end of the tunnel. She fought the image of the lab’s boa constrictor swallowing her headfirst, squeezing tighter and tighter. Then, a rumble shifting floors above terrified her and she screamed. The release of air deflated her lungs and ribcage just enough to allow her to squeeze through the opening of the passage.

Perspiration poured off her body and she lay still, taking in great gulps of air. Moments passed before she gathered her wits and strength and stretched her arms farther. The tips of her fingers found the end of the conveyer belt and she melted with relief. Pouring her entire being into one last pull, she fell in an unceremonious heap on the floor. Thank you, Lord Jesus.

Except for some broken glass and a low hanging light fixture, the number three processing lab seemed unscathed by the blast. She pushed herself to a kneeling position and struggled to stand.

A calm deep voice rippled through her skin. Are you okay? It knocked her back to her knees. She raised her chin to stare at a tall handsome black man standing not three yards away with his hands in the pockets of his pressed lab jacket. His skin, darker than hers, but not by much contrasted well with his cropped close black hair with a precise jawline beard that emphasized the sharp planes of his cheeks. He said nothing more, but the gold flecks in hazel eyes danced with laughter while the straight line of his lips wouldn’t stay put. They kept quirking up at the corners until he schooled them down. He made no move to help her.

A good thing. She wouldn’t have let him touch her. Eyeing a steel rod, she snatched it and held it in a white-knuckle grip. It gave her confidence. She could take him . . . she hoped. Even with her years of mixed martial arts training, however, she had to admit, at the moment, she wasn’t sure. She might not be her best right now and analyzed his probable strength. He had a slim build. Not thin, though, and his shoulders were wide. He stood much taller than her five ten.

Annoyed at his apparent amusement, Sarah glared at him. Where the hell did you come from? She clambered to her feet with the help of the steel rod. Answer, she commanded. He might be attractive, but he didn’t belong here any more than that strange package on the conveyor belt.

Although guarded, she was, in truth, glad to see anyone on her side of the problem. Nevertheless, gripping the steel bar like a baseball bat gave her a sense of control. She growled through the dust in her throat. Just who are you?

What happened here? he asked, hands up in mock surrender. Are you hurt?

Your name, she demanded, not to be put off.

He lowered his hands, but held his ground. Benjamin. Benjamin St. Phard. And you are?

Sarah O’Quinn. Her weapon remained at the ready. Did you have anything to do with this?

He folded his arms and stroked his chiseled chin. You’re an O’Quinn? He pointed at her and grinned. You’re related to—

Damn right. Using a two-handed grip she tapped the concrete with the tip of the steel bar. And I don’t know you. Returning to her batter’s stance, she hissed through her teeth. What do you do here?

He pulled his lab coat back and put his hands on his hips. What’s your security level? he asked, as if he had the right.

My security level? You’re asking me my security level? I’m the freaking number one daughter, clown. The tip of the steel bat made small circles in the air and she took a half step forward. I repeat, tell me what the hell you do here.

He took off his ID tag and arranged it on a miraculously unbroken lab table, then stepped back. This says everything.

In synch with his retreat, she advanced and pointed one end of the steel bar directly at him. Holding it with her palm turned down she tucked the end under her arm.

"Benjamin St. Phard, M.D., Ph.D., Director, Lab

2

Discovery

Sarah’s adoptive mother , Shannon O’Quinn, lounged in a chair next to her husband, whose arm she unconsciously patted while he snored softly. It was unusual for them to have leisure time together during the day. James, was the owner and CEO of Trident International and had never-ending decision-making responsibilities. She, on the other hand, had biological research problems to solve. They were in the gazebo on their estate in Baltimore enjoying warm weather and cool breezes until pain hammered Shannon’s temples.

Shannon’s serene view of the lake changed to a vision of chaos, with dark clouds of dust and drywall, twisted metal and rubble. She inhaled in anguish and the image vanished, but her heart raced on and she gulped for air. As the owner, administrator, and the head of research, she knew exactly where to look, but all she saw was dust in her remote view her of the lab. James, she yanked his sleeve.

He woke with a start.

It’s Sarah. Something’s happened at the lab. There’s been an explosion. She scanned the other floors with her mind. I can’t find her. Suppose she didn’t escape the explosion? Not seeing any sign of her daughter, she took her viz outside the building hoping futilely to find her there. Someone else caught her eye. There’s Kanesha.

Who?

Kanesha, you know, her roommate at Wellesley. She’s waiting by her car, topside.

Go, James said. You need to be there and find her. I’ll get Harris on it.

Shannon pulled out her phone and punched an icon. Kanesha, have you heard from Sarah?

Dr. O’Quinn, no, but I expect her any minute. We’re headed to the beach for the—

There’s been an accident in the lab. Help is on the way. There’s nothing you can do and soon all hell will break loose. You’ll be detained for questioning if you are anywhere in the vicinity, so get out of there.

But—

No buts, go. It could be a terrorist attack. We don’t need you tied up with Homeland Security for days or longer. I’ll keep you posted. Go.

With tires screaming and pebbles flying, Kanesha executed a high-speed drift exiting the parking lot and shot across four lanes of traffic. The smell of burnt rubber hung in air filled with the screeching blasts of approaching sirens. Rather than desert her friend completely, she turned into the parking lot of the high-end stores across from the lab and stayed to watch.

James filled in Harris, his security head, on the small number of facts they knew.

I’m on it. I’ll see Dr. O’Quinn there.

How the hell could this have . . . Shannon’s words disappeared with a soft pop, as air filled the displaced space left from her repositioning.

Although one police car after another entered the lab’s parking lot, no one saw the slim older woman in a white lab coat and black slacks appear from nowhere. Shannon remained hidden in the shadows, away from the emergency lights.

She pushed her long auburn hair away from her face to scan the chaotic scene. Fearing her daughter, Sarah, was trapped, injured, or worse five stories below, she closed her eyes and again used her mental ability to remotely view the lab in search of her. It was the same as before. She found nothing. There was no visual of her on level five or anywhere else within the building. It made no sense.

Mentally, she contacted her best friend and research partner. Panic filled her.

Oblivious to the noise and chaos of nearby vehicles whining so close by she could touch them, Shannon tried in vain to reach out to the matriarch of her cohort. Frustrated, she addressed the entire cohort.

She told them what she knew and ended with a summary.

Elizabeth asked.

She paused and chewed her bottom lip. She had tried so hard to convince her that her ability to hear voices could be controlled. That she was not a freak. She had a skill she could develop. Tears of worry and guilt gathered and she blinked them away. She had no time for second-guessing.

A honking fire truck inched by and Shannon stepped deeper into the building’s shadows. It wouldn’t do for anyone to know she repositioned to the scene apparently out of nowhere. A growing maze of twisted hoses and cables crisscrossed the macadam and men with bullhorns shouted a continual stream of orders. Police and rescue vehicles continued to pour into the parking lot, clogging the passing lanes and preventing access by fire trucks.

The screech of brakes and the whine of sirens threatened to split her head and she measured the distance to the communications trailer with her eyes.

A familiar face emerged in the sea of others in the crowd. Captain Burke, she called in relief. She knew him from a year earlier when he’d led the efforts to rescue her when her plane crashed into the lake outside her Baltimore home. Carefully, she navigated shifting obstacles to catch up to him.

Although busy directing his group leaders, he recognized her straight away. Dr. O’Quinn. Your husband’s security man notified me you’d be here. I’m sorry to meet again under these circumstances. What can you tell me?

Skipping the niceties, Shannon dove in. Sarah was the only one scheduled to work in the level five lab today. James said you have all the codes.

Check. Your husband’s people provided them to me on my way over. You had a few maintenance and staff workers in levels one through three. No one else signed in below that level except Sarah. I have teams working their way down the stairwells and my man is headed to check the video surveillance now.

Good, I want to see them, too.

Kent, Burke called out to a passing lieutenant, take Dr. O’Quinn to the big trailer. She has full access to all info.

Throwing a ‘thank you’ over her shoulder, Shannon rushed to follow in the man’s wake. Dodging the minefield of tangled hoses and electrical cables, she fought the urge to reposition directly to the level five lab. Elizabeth’s voice held her in check.

Elizabeth was always the damn voice of reason. She needed to find Sarah.

Security and rescue personnel raced in every direction and in avoiding a rushing officer, she sidestepped into a water-filled pothole, twisting her ankle. She would have fallen had a passing fireman not steadied her.

Gotcha, he said. Her momentum and his catch spun them around.

I’m okay, she shouted, using the added energy to slingshot after the lieutenant. She limped, skipped, and hopped the final yards to the door of the long communications center and entered behind him.

---

A bank of screens monitoring the progress of teams working inside the laboratory levels filled one wall. Shannon grabbed the lieutenant’s shoulder. Kent, do we have a screen we can use to tie into my internal security cameras?

The lieutenant darted his eyes about the darkened room. Angie, he called out.

A woman at the far end of the van stood and waved an arm. Yo. Over here, Dr. O’Quinn.

Shannon fought the people in the crowded facility to the woman extending a headset.

The building’s been secured, she said when Shannon reached her. They’re patching us in now. Sit here. She pointed to the chair and motioned to put the headset on. Tell our man inside what you want to see.

Shannon pushed the seat aside and leaned on the table with one arm. Speaking to the screen with the authority of one used to being in charge, she said, This is Dr. O’Quinn. Who’s got the desk?

A familiar face slid sideways onto the screen. It’s me. Margaret. I’m manning security cameras from the main lobby. No damage here, but level five’s a mess. Where do we start?

It’s you, good. Any active cameras working that level? She heard her own panicked voice in the mike and steadied herself, synching her breathing with Margaret’s controlled cadence.

One live. One recorded.

Show me the recording.

I’ll play the time line of what we have, second by second, starting ten-seconds before the blast. Ready?

Shannon focused on the screen knowing her family and closest friends, although not physically there, observed the film through her collective mind-link. She knocked on the wooden table for good luck. It couldn’t hurt.

In the replay, Sarah walked toward the camera. The conveyer belt filled the background with its many switchback turns. More, she knew, were out of the frame. Her daughter approached the edge of the camera’s view, stopped, turned, and threw up her arms. A blast shook the image and a cloud of dust filled the screen. Something smashed against the camera, and the screen went blank.

Margaret, did one of those packages blow up? Is there anything you saw that didn’t look like it belonged there?

Bottom of the screen. There’s something on the conveyer belt that is different from the others.

Replay the sequence.

You can just make it out the lower left. A small brown box. I’ll slow the playback.

Shannon stared at the indicated space on the screen. In the fifth second, the lower corner of the box appeared. Again, slow it more.

Scrutinizing the loop once more, she didn’t blink.

Dammit.

What’s that, Dr. O’Quinn? Margaret asked.

Not wanting to disclose the reason for her concern, she requested more detail. Take me up to Sarah’s reaction, then slow down the playback yet again.

Shannon now knew exactly what to look for this time. The box appeared and within a fraction of a second, Sarah turned to look at it.

Good girl, you heard it, she whispered under her breath.

When the bomb exploded, Sarah threw up her hands.

Elizabeth asked in an excited tone.

She slapped her hands on the table.

Lost in thought, Shannon stood with one arm folded across her chest, the other under her chin. No one in the trailer detected her mental broadcast to the other Cohorts. She paused.

In a distant voice, she heard MeMa.

3

A Gathering At The Gazebo

Dodging vehicles and personnel and jumping over cables and puddles, Shannon searched for a deep shadow where no one would see her reposition to the white gazebo at the Russo Estate in Baltimore.

I got here as fast as I could. She ran up the three steps and gave Elizabeth a quick hug. Now I know how Superman feels searching for a phone booth. Search and rescue units were everywhere and I couldn’t reposition without being seen.

MeMa, dressed in her usual, a black Victorian evening gown, stood and after exchanging cheek kisses, patted her upper arms. We think the Followers have taken Sarah. Elizabeth and I shared some thoughts on it.

All I know is she was not in the bomb blast, Shannon said, her voice shaky as she returned the old woman’s hug. I’m glad you’ve come, MeMa. Liz, she said, turning to her friend, what more do you think?

The explosion was a ruse, a cover-up.

For what? Surprise washed away her threatening tears. How could this be happening? She wanted Sarah back.

MeMa took Shannon’s hand before responding. Kidnapping has long been the method of the Followers for increasing the numbers of their clan.

The Followers? Take Sarah? What are you talking about? She covered the gnarled old hand with her own and held it close.

The clans of Followers, my dear, like the ancient Svalbard community we had trouble with last year. These people have long sought young people to populate their clan. They employ Seekers, the most powerful among them, to go into the world and take those who seem most suited to their way of life.

But they know all about us. They must know Sarah is specifically not suited. She’s no good to them, MeMa. She won’t accept her powers and won’t use them. Besides, at twenty-one, she’s too old. We’re still trying to convince her she’s not schizophrenic. Crap. We go two steps forward with her and her skills and she drops four steps back. Dammit. She drew her hands into tight fists and threw herself into the nearby chair. She makes me so mad I could choke her myself. She could have used her damn powers to get away.

We need a plan, Elizabeth said. We need to find her . . . fast.

MeMa put her palms up. I asked both of you to meet with me because I must teach you more about blocking any outsiders’ efforts to probe your mind. Your abilities have developed enough to learn this new skill and there is no reason for anyone to monitor you without your permission.

How does that help us get Sarah back? Shannon rose from the chair and paced within the confines of the gazebo. If we know the Followers took her, we need to get her.

You are correct, daughter, MeMa said. Seekers removed her from the laboratory before the blast of the bomb could injure her. We also know the traditional kidnappers used by the Followers would not take her directly to Svalbard.

Stepping closer to the matriarch, Shannon stared intently into the old woman’s eye. How can you be so sure, Mother?

The Seekers who kidnap for the clan always keep their victims for a year or so before taking them to the community. They need to condition the new person to their ways.

Condition them? What the hell . . . uh, sorry, does that mean?

Their method is to be with their victims, to protect and care for them. This need, as you call it, supports what we saw in the film footage. MeMa paused, Whoever took her would make sure she was not hurt.

Elizabeth sat across from them leaning her elbows on her knees. Granted, they may have a concern for her well-being, and for that, we’re grateful. However, by bombing the facility, they interrupted our work and sent a message. They can get to us. It is an indisputable threat.

That is true, daughter.

But why did they take Sarah? Shannon could not remain still. Once more she stood and paced. Surely, they’re aware of her colossal resistance. She rubbed her hand across her forehead.

Hesitating, Elizabeth put forth her theory. It’s possible their primary goal be not to take her into their community, but to use her as leverage against us?

Leverage, adoption, who cares? Shannon said. I’m not interested in why they took her. All I care about is getting her back. She held her cheeks. Poor Sarah, she must be so scared. Tears welled in her eyes. God dammit. She smacked her hand on her thigh. Let’s go get her.

MeMa took her hand. The Followers are not insensitive to the frailties of the mind or spirit, daughters. When Shannon would have jerked it free, she held it in a firm grip. They have most likely projected a world into her mind that does not injure her emotions. Seekers have medicinal methods to sedate and control their captives. I am sure Sarah has been medicated so that even now, she is possibly indifferent to her condition. She may even enjoy the attention they shower upon her. It is all part of the process of indoctrination.

Are you kidding me? Shannon’s eyes blazed into MeMa’s. That’s brainwashing, no matter how you explain it. What’s more, we all know there is no way my stubborn daughter will buckle down to such nonsense. She’ll be fighting them tooth and nail. You can bet she’ll be as angry as I am. If I’d had to speak to anyone other than Maggie O’Conner, I would have lost it in that trailer. The fact that Sarah’s former bodyguard, who was almost killed herself in the bombing at the estate last year, could be that calm in her effort to sort this out, was the only thing that gave me the strength to hold it together.

Elizabeth threw an arm around Shannon’s shoulders while she struggled for composure. They had been friends for over forty years and had been through hell together.

Shannon shook her off. The whole thing sounds like a freaking cult. I’m not sitting around waiting for the next time they decide to come for one of mine . . . or for any of the Cohort children, for that matter.

What pharmaceuticals would they use to prevent her from fighting back? Elizabeth asked

They have one that can do it, MeMa stated in a matter-of-fact tone, clearing her throat. I believe your scientists call it flunitrazepam.

Elizabeth raised both eyebrows. Rohypnol.

The date rape drug? Shannon glared at MeMa, daring her to continue.

MeMa rubbed her chin in a moment of silence. I must check out some possibilities with Seekers I trust. In spite of her many, many years of age, she rose briskly to her feet. My contacts value their privacy; therefore, I may be out of touch for a day or so, perhaps longer. I will return as soon as I am able. Keep vizing your search for Sarah, but first, she held out her arms with impatience. Take my hands. Quickly now, I wish to share with you more training for mind-blocking probes. Hurry.

But—

It will help keep you and your family safe.

Within seconds, MeMa broke contact. You now have the first of those lessons.

How can—?

Without another word, MeMa vanished.

4

Sarah Wakes

Sarah rubbed her eyes to rid them of a fuzzy brightness only to discover she was in a four-poster bed under a canopy of fine white muslin. Reaching for the lump that must surely be on the back of her head, she found nothing. She stretched out her arms to assess the cuts and bruises. Not even a scratch? That was strange.

She ran her hands across her breasts, down over her stomach to her thighs. No tender spots. She wore a silk nightgown. The breeze of the slowly turning ceiling fan ruffled the muslin and cooled her through the sheer material, making her feel naked . . . vulnerable.

Mentally, she gave herself a shake and crawled to the foot of the bed, sliding her feet to a white fur rug. Looking for clues of her location, she spotted a black and white cat on the table near the window. No help there. Blue trim on the window and doors gave relief to the pristine white of the plaster walls and stepping off the small soft area rug to cool blue Grecian tile, she explored farther. Bright sunlight from the open double doors drew her and she ventured onto a patio that reached over an azure sea. Greece? Impossible.

Clusters of white houses with blue trim dotting the distant steep hillside. A small horizon pool cantilevered over the bluest expanse of water she had ever seen. Far below, flocks of white birds flew in formation, skimming the surface of the water and gliding on air currents. The sky, as clear and blue as the ocean below, faded in the distance where gray islands dotted the horizon. When a breeze waffled across the patio, it chilled her and it wasn’t because of the temperature. She wrapped her arms around herself.

I see you’re up.

She jumped at a familiar voice.

Did you sleep well?

That man. She missed the comfort the steel rod had given her, but gamely turned to face him, instinctively crossing her arms to cover her breasts. He stood wreathed in a confident smile and faded khaki cargo shorts. The fine strands of an ancient-looking gold necklace accented his dark, muscled skin. In spite of how little, he wore, she felt naked by comparison.

Benjamin St. Phard stood smiling at her for far too long and Sarah began to seethe. Finally, he raised both hands in apology. There’s a white terry cloth robe hanging by the door. I’ll get it for you.

When he returned, she grabbed the covering and turned her back on him to slip it on. She grew increasingly angry, knowing that somehow, all this was his fault. What body of water is that? Sarah said, pointing down the long distance to the ocean.

Can you guess?

Thanks, Socrates. She rolled her eyes. I started the day in Baltimore, but that is certainly not the Chesapeake. It looks more like the Aegean.

Ah, you have done some traveling.

Hardly the issue is it? Sarah was not to be cowed or lead away from her questions. How did we get here?

He gently placed two large warm hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face a small white table shaded by a huge purple bougainvillea. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. First, come and have some food. It’s been a long time since you ate or drank anything.

Although she gave a token resistance, what he said was true.

I want you to meet someone. He walked ahead of her and pulled out a chair. Within seconds, a beautiful young Greek woman, dressed in shorts and a tight black t-shirt, with the sleeves and back slashed away to show skin where ever possible, appeared from around the side of the building. She oozed sexuality. Even in the mundane act of setting down a tray of fruit, cheese, and juice, it poured from her lithe and graceful movements.

Hello, Sarah, my name is Adrianne. Welcome to Santorini. You’ll be safe here.

The black and white cat, that had followed her onto the patio, did not apparently agree. It dashed away from the woman. Agreeing with the cat, Sarah eyed her with suspicion. Safe from what?

Adrianne glanced at Benjamin and raised a delicate eyebrow. From my brother, for starters, but don’t worry, he won’t be around long enough to bother you. Orange juice?

How did I get here and just who the hell are you two? Sarah glared at first one and then the other. I want to make a phone call. Sarah’s anger rose by the moment. Why am I here? Although she didn’t want to accept anything from either of them, she was thirsty. She took a small sip of the orange juice the woman set before her, then took a larger swallow.

The explosion in the lab seemed days ago and Benjamin was right, it had been a long time since her last meal. How long was I asleep?

A phone call. How quaint. Adrianne took a small bunch of the grapes from the tray. More juice?

Sarah sagged in her chair and tried to sit taller, but found the effort impossible. Her eye lids drooped and she held on to the table. Distrust